


The Treasure Hunter's Lusty Love Affair

by Bandshe



Series: Uncharted Fics [12]
Category: Uncharted
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bandshe/pseuds/Bandshe





	The Treasure Hunter's Lusty Love Affair

You’re too focused on what you’re doing to even notice that he’s reading over your shoulder. With every word you write, you feel as if you’re deleting two. You run your fingers through your hair, whimpering in dismay. You go to grab your tea when you begin to sense a presence.

“Hmm, you misspelled a word.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, closing the laptop almost immediately.

“Hey, I liked it.” He sits on the edge of the desk. “Didn’t know you were a writer.”

“Well, technically I’m not. I mean, I’m just doing this for fun.”

“You’re still a writer.” He smiles.

Your face burns with embarrassment. He runs his thumb along your cheek, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

“I would love to read them some time.”

You look at him in horror. There is no way you’d let him read your trash. Never in a million years.

“Um, uh…”, you stammer. “I don’t think that they’re up to your standards.”

“You don’t know that, baby girl. Just one look.” He’s persistent, a trait that can either be admiral or annoying.

“Maybe some other time, honey,” you lie.

He cracks a smile and kisses your forehead before he slides off the desk. “I’m going to grab food. Wanna join?”

You look at your laptop, you want to finish your story, but now that he knows you fear he’ll just hover over you and pick it apart or sigh judgmentally. You look at him wondering just how hungry you are. You decide to go and eat, at least this way he won’t be trying to read your trashy stories.

You sit across from each other, him with a big grin on his face and you with a more quizzical expression.

“Why the smile?”, you ask.

“Just wondering.”

“About?”

“How long have you been writing?”

“Since I could hold a pencil. And I would hardly call it writing.” You pick at the food on your plate, trying your hardest to avoid his stare.

“Well, I’d like to refute that statement, but you won’t allow me to read it.” He reaches for your hand but you quickly pull it away.

“Trust me when I say, I’m sparing you.”

Rafe lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t bring it up again.”

As soon as he’s asleep, you tiptoe down the steps and into your small office, where you keep the laptop. The door creaks as it opens, something you didn’t notice up until that point, when you most definitely didn’t need him hearing anything.

You slipped in through the door and quietly, or as quietly as you could, close the door. You sit at your desk and open the laptop. You stare at where you left off and frown. If he hadn’t interrupted you, you could’ve at least made a few more paragraphs. You purse your lips as you grapple with the next few sentences. You growl in frustration, biting your lip until it begins to bleed a little. You run your fingers through your hair and you’re dangerously close to just fling it across the room.

You slam the laptop closed and leave the room. You practically storm up the stairs. At this point you don’t care if Rafe wakes up, after all it’s his fault you’re in this mess in the first place. You head to the bathroom and turn on the sink. You stare at your reflection for a moment before splashing cold water on your face.

“Baby girl? Why are you still up?”, he croaks.

She sighs the moment she hears his voice and debates as to whether or not she should answer him.

“Babe?”

“I just needed to check the doors. I thought I left them unlocked,” you hope he believes it.

“Were they locked?”, his voice finally getting back to it’s normal tone.

“Yes.” You turn off the bathroom light and head back to bed.

You woke up later than usual and cursed yourself. Rafe had already left for the day and didn’t even bother waking you up so you could eat breakfast together. Then the sudden realization hits you, you can go and work on your story without his interruptions.

You open your office door, but something isn’t right. The door doesn’t creak. Were you imagining it last night? Then you looked at the hinges and realized that they were oiled.

“Bastard.” The sudden realization that he already knew what you were doing made you angry, but not so much at him as you were with yourself. Maybe you should’ve let him read it. For all you know he may even be the encouragement you need.

You continue on with your routine. You open up the laptop and get a few of your books out.   _Shit_. You sit down and suddenly remember that you want to make yourself a cup of tea, another part of the ritual. You grab your phone and boil the hot water and  place the loose leaf tea in a little tea bag. You browse the internet until the high pitch whistling of the kettle captures your attention. You pour the water in the cup and continue your browsing while the tea steeps. Before you know it you realized you over-steeped your tea.

“Dammit. What a way to start my day.” You throw out the tea bag and walk back into your office. You sit in front of the laptop and place your mug next to it. With your luck you will spill the tea over your laptop. Just the idea makes you shudder and you open one of the drawers and put it in there, where you promptly forget about it.

You’re there for what seems like hours and all you’ve done was add a new chapter, or a facsimile of one. “That’s enough.” You stand up realizing that there was a cup of tea in your drawer. You shake your head and leave the room with your tea.

You sit in the living room and watch some tv and drink some tea. You hear the lock turning and look over at the door. Rafe walks in with a large box in his hands.

“Whatcha got there?”, your brow raised.

“A little encouragement for my baby.” You’re wary of his cheshire grin.

“What kind of encouragement?”, you stand up and follow him into your office. He places the box down on a chair and waits for you to open it. You eye him suspiciously, his grin never faltering.

“Oh my God, Rafe. You got me a an Olivetti Valentine typewriter; and a blue one at that. How did you even know I wanted one?”

“There’s more.”

You looked inside and there was another box. You carefully open it. “Wh-what is this?”

“It’s a vintage style mechanical keyboard. So you can get the feel of using the typewriter, but on the computer. I mean in case you don’t want to use the Olivetti, that is.”

You stare at it briefly and from the corner of your eye you see his smile begin to fade. “I love them, Rafe!”

“You’re not bullshitting me, right?”, he asks.

“No. I can’t wait to use this keyboard, well maybe I should just mess around the the typewriter instead.” Your excitement brought back his grin.

You put the keyboard back in the box and jump into his arms, peppering his face with kisses. “Thank you so much.”

“Maybe they’ll help you write your first bestseller.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

For the rest of the day you fiddle around with the typewriter. The clicking of the keys and the dinging eventually get on Rafe’s nerves and he stops you. “I think that’s enough, babygirl.” You pout, but you know he’s right.

You go to bed before he does, but seeing as he still had to make a few calls out of country you didn’t pester him to go to bed with you.

You’re up late again, but this time you’re excited. You fly down the stairs and into your office. You open the laptop and start clicking away.

“Awake, I see.”

“Jesus, Rafe, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Brought you some tea.” He holds out her favorite mug and brushes his fingers along her hand as she takes it from him.

“I’ll be in my study if you need me, baby girl”

“Okay.” You barely notice his departure as you began on your new chapter. But after a while you grow bored and just want to go spend some time with Rafe.

You walk across the house, towards his study. The door was closed, a usual indicator that he didn’t want to be bothered, but he did tell her to see him if she needed him. You rap on the door with your knuckles.

“Come in.”

You open the door and see him sitting at his desk, chewing on the end of his glasses’ eyepiece. Whatever he’s reading over must be enthralling. He puts his glasses back on and takes a deep breath before he addresses you.

“You know, this sounds a lot like it could be a biography of our sex life. What are you planning on calling it, “The Treasure Hunters Lusty Love Affair’?” There it was again, that no good grin of his.

“Rafe! Oh my god did you fucking print out my story?” You charge at him hoping to snatch the papers from his desk, but he grabs your arm and pulls you down on to his lap. You squeal loudly as you land on his lap with a thump. You look up at him, you still can’t get used to him in his glasses and what it does to you. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. He pulls away and looks back up at the desk.

“No, it’s really good, babygirl. I mean, you sort of undersell the size love interest’s cock though,” he says with a chuckle.

You avert your gaze as your face begins to burn. He spins you around so you’re facing the desk, looking straight at the pile of trash that is your _story_. You feel him lean in closer. He starts to read a paragraph of your story. His breath warmed your neck and you let out an involuntary moan. You hear him chuckle. You can’t help but cringe as he continues to read on.

“Now you read the next paragraph.” The last time you took turns reading an excerpt from a book, you were in grade school

You clear your throat and begin to read it. You lose focus almost immediately as you feel his teeth scrape across your neck.

“Why did you stop?”

“I can’t focus,” you pant.

“Well, try again.”

You do as you’re told but again his lips are on your neck, his glasses rubbing up against it. Your voice catches, but you continue. He moves up and starts to nip at your ears.

He coaxes you to read on. You try as best as you could. Clearing your throat in between each paragraph.

“Atta girl,” he whispers in your ear as he moves his hand between your thighs.

“Rafe, you have to stop. I can’t focus.”

“Just one more paragraph, babe,” he demands.

You gulp and your voice quivers, but you manage to finish reading it. It sounds even worse read out loud.

“S-see, I told you it was trash.”

“Nonsense, you just need some tweaking and you’ll be set.”

“Set with what?” You stand up and give him a quizzical glare.

“Publishing it. I know some people.”

“Raphael Adler, I will not let you publish this trash.”

“Baby girl, it’s _trash_ like this that sells.” He pulls you back in and kisses you softly. “Besides, aside from the inaccurate depiction of my, excuse me, the love interest’s penis size, I think it’s a good start.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Would I ever lie to you?” Your response is muffled by his sudden kiss. “So, how about we reenact some of those scenes?”


End file.
